The Wolf's Mouth
by beta-sheet
Summary: With Raina in the wind, pursuing her own agenda, Hydra needs a new brilliant mind to carry on with her work. The best candidate: Jemma Simmons. Everyone has a price. It didn't take long for them to figure out hers.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This a story that takes place around a month after the finale so, obviously, all the spoilers for that. Mostly, it's Simmons-centric, though the rest of the team will also be making an appearance. Any and all feedback is much appreciated. and I hope you enjoy it! **

**Also, as you might've guessed, I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.**

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Fitz was gone. His room was empty. The myriad machines that had been keeping him alive had vanished, the room oddly quiet without the constant beeping of the heart monitor. The bed was made, and the little touches that betrayed all the time Jemma had spent there - the books, the mess of papers, the toy monkey, the blanket and the pillow - were nowhere to be seen. She shook her head, hoping the small action would erase everything that was wrong with the sight in front of her. She just didn't understand. Even if the worst had happened, even if Fitz was — She shut that line of thinking quickly. she refused to even entertain that notion. Someone would've called. The hospital staff would've told her what was happening. Someone would've stopped her. They would've let her see him before just taking him away.

A warm hand on her shoulder startled her out of her bleak thoughts. She turned, finding a short orderly she'd seen a few times before.

"They moved him this morning," he explained, guessing at her thoughts. His voice was soft, probably meant to reassure her. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. That even if there was an innocent reason, someone would've let her know.

"Moved him where? Why? Is he okay? Did he wake up?" She couldn't help the small note of hope that tinged that last question, even though it wouldn't make sense. As his emergency contact, they would've called her too, were that the case.

A small smile curled the orderly's lips. His response left her cold.

"Well, I've been ordered not to tell you where yet. As to why... to ensure your compliance, of course."

Jemma opened her mouth to speak, but she quickly shut it as she spotted the glinting scalpel in the man's hand and the almost imperceptible shake of his head. The message was clear: don't do anything, don't say anything. She took a deep breath, folding her arms across her chest and staring at the man. She knew she probably should be scared. Whatever this was about, it wasn't looking too good for her, but her thoughts kept returning to Fitz. If they'd hurt him, it would be her fault. Again. If something happened to him because of her, again, she'd never be able to forgive herself.

The man seemed pleased.

"Now, I'm going to need you to come with me quietly and not make a fuss. If I show up without you, your friend is dead. If I don't show up at all, your friend is dead." His tone remained soft and casual, like they were discussing the weather, instead of the life of one of the people she cared most about, and she suddenly felt like hitting him. She'd never been a very violent person, but the breeziness with which he was discussing her plight was almost too much. Instead, she simply nodded. She had no way to know if he was telling the truth - for all she knew Fitz could already be dead (her throat tightened at the thought) - but she knew for a fact he wasn't where he was supposed to be. She couldn't risk doubting him.

"Let's go, then." Without warning, he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, his hand crawling beneath her cardigan so that the scalpel was hidden from sight. Her immediate reaction was to pull away, but the pressure of the small blade against her hipbone stopped her. She'd used enough scalpels in her life to know how sharp they were.

His other hand started searching the pockets of her jeans, pulling out her cellphone, lanyard and keys, dropping them on the ground and kicking them under the bed.

As they started moving, she felt her hands start to go numb, and a cold weight settle into the pit of her stomach. She knew it was the effect of the adrenaline pumping through her system, filling her with nervous energy and the need to do something - anything - to get out of her predicament. It felt wrong, leaving without much of a fight. She had the feeling that if it had been May or Coulson in her place, they would've handled the situation much better, figured a way to incapacitate the man, or leave a message for the rest of the team. As it was, she had no choice but to make her way quickly through the corridors with him. She tried, as she went, to catch the eye of some of the hospital personnel she recognised, but the man ordered her to keep her head low as he steered her past the nurses' station.

"And stop looking like you've seen a ghost," he added with a growl "If we get made, your friend is going to be beyond any help."

Once they made it to the lift, his grip on her relaxed slightly, and she decided to take a chance at speaking. If nothing else, she could try to figure out what, exactly, he wanted from her.

"I - why are you doing this?" The man rolled his eyes.

"I thought we'd agreed on the quiet."

"I just want to understand."

"I'm following orders," was his succinct answer. Not a very informative one, either. Kidnapping a comma patient from a hospital without raising an alert was probably not a one man operation, Jemma had figured as much.

"From whom? What do they need me for?"

"You'll see soon enough. Now, shut up." The elevator dinged. The man's grip on her tightened again and he dragged her out towards the exit. As they stepped through the doors, she chanced a look at the cameras that she'd noticed before on one of her many trips. If she knew her teammates, she knew sooner or later, Skye would be looking through that footage for a hint as to what had happened.

She had only a fraction of a second to mouth something to the camera before she was steered onto the sidewalk and towards a black car with tinted windows. The man opened the back door and pushed her into the back seat, where another man, blonde and wearing sunglasses, sat. On one hand, he held a small handgun and on the other, a white rag.

"Hold her for me," he told the orderly, who did as requested, with one arm draping across her chest and one across her hips.

As the rag was brought in contact with her face, Jemma couldn't help but struggle, holding her breath and trying to angle her face anywhere else.

"No!" she cried out, trying to squirm out of the man's grasp.

"Now, don't make this harder on yourself," the blond man cooed as the orderly brought the hand draped across her hips up to hold her chin in place. In the end, it was the burning sensation in her lungs and the notion that she'd probably black out anyway from oxygen deprivation that had her relenting, inhaling the sweet-smelling chemical that laced the rag.

The last thing she heard, as her world turned black, was a muted 'Hail Hydra' as the hands holding her loosened.


	2. Chapter 2

When she finally came to, Jemma could not have said how long she lay there on the cold floor, unmoving, willing her head to stop pounding and trying to muster the will to open her eyes and figure out where they'd taken her. It wasn't until she remembered why she was there in the first place - that Fitz was in trouble - that she was jolted into action.

The action was short lived, however, as the combination of the light bombarding her retinas as she opened her eyes and her attempts to sit up resulted in having to curl up on herself, jaw clenched as she tried to fight the sudden urge to vomit.

She groaned, taking several deep breaths as the wave of nausea washed over her. Once she was convinced she was definitely not going to lose her breakfast, she cracked open one eye and then the other. The light didn't seem as bright as it had been when she'd first tried opening them, and while her headache intensified slightly, it remained bearable.

She wasn't sure what she'd been given, and there was no way she could narrow it down without thorough blood testing, but whatever it was, she would probably be feeling the effects for a while. Taking another deep breath, she gingerly rolled over so she was facing something other than the white wall that had first greeted her, and sat up slowly.

As it turned out, she almost needn't have bothered. The gray marble floor and white walls were all there was to the room, interrupted only by a grey door opposite her. On two opposing corners of the room, she could also see two cameras mounted near the ceiling, red blinking lights seemingly indicating they were recording.

Knowing it was probably futile, but that she had to try it, she made her way across the room to the door and tested the knob. It was, as she'd predicted, locked. She could always try kicking it, she thought wryly, but the likelihood that she'd achieve nothing but hurting herself was high. And, in the off chance she was successful, it's not like her attempt to leave the room would go unnoticed either, thanks to the cameras.

Sighing, she rested her forehead against the door and closed her eyes. The cool metal soothed her headache somewhat and made it easier to think. She contemplated calling out in the hopes that it would bring someone to her erstwhile cell. She was torn between fear of what would happen when someone did come, and the unbearable uncertainty of her situation. While she had some idea of who'd taken her, she needed to know why and, most of all, she needed some reassurance that Fitz was okay. That he was, at least, still breathing.

She was saved the need to choose, though, as she heard what had to be steps right outside the door. Taking a couple of steps back, she listened intently as the steps came to a stop and the door started to open.

The man who entered the room was older than the Hydra men she'd encountered earlier in the hospital, his hair already a silvery white. He was tall and, while the inevitabilities of age had made his gut rounder than it had probably been in his youth, his shoulders remained broad, straining against his suit.

"Doctor Simmons," he spoke, startling her. It had been a long time since anyone referred to her as 'doctor'. Since joining SHIELD, she'd always been first and foremost an agent; though she supposed, since it didn't officially exist anymore, she'd stopped being officially one. Then again, thanks to Skye's skills, Jemma Simmons did not technically exist, either. "I'm sorry for the manner in which you were brought here; I'm sure you understand, this is a delicate matter, and we couldn't risk you alerting anyone."

"Where's Fitz?" She almost snarled, fists clenching. She didn't care to hear the man's platitudes. How dare he act like she wasn't being held in some Hydra facility god—knew-where; like, under different circumstances, she would've come of her own free will.

"Straight to the point, I see." He smiled at her, almost pityingly. "Mr. Fitz is being held somewhere in this compound, not too far from here. I'll take you to see him in just a minute. But, first, we need to have a chat."

"Doctor." The correction left her mouth almost before she'd processed what she was saying.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's Doctor Fitz. Or Agent Fitz." If she was being afforded this small measure of respect, then so should Fitz. She wouldn't let her friend be reduced to a bargaining chip, his skills and accomplishments dismissed as if they meant nothing.

"Right; I apologise, doctor Fitz. Like I said, he is here, and he is fine. Or as fine as he can be, given his current circumstances."

Jemmma exhaled in relief, even though any hope she'd held onto that she'd been fooled and Fitz was still somewhere back in the hospital had been shattered. Still, she wouldn't quite believe it until she saw him. Whatever they wanted from her, they would not get until she could be physically reassured that he was alive.

"Who are you? Why am I here? What do you want from me?" The man quirked an eyebrow as the questions tumbled out of her mouth.

"Which one of those would like me to answer first?" He smirked. "I would invite you to sit, but, well..." He gestured around the empty room. "My name is Joseph Loeb. I was Agent Garrett's handler, which leaves me now with the task of putting his affairs in order. And the answer to your last question is, what don't we want from you? You're a brilliant scientist, Doctor Simmons, and would be a valuable addition to our cause. Specifically, however, we'd like you to aid us in our research into GH325."

"I - what? Why me?" While she could understand why they'd want to research the drug, she couldn't quite see why they'd go to the trouble of kidnapping her.

"Like I said, you're a brilliant scientist. You've worked with it before. You've seen its effects and you've had access to the blood of those treated with it. You're about as close as it gets to an expert, with everyone that worked on the project either missing or dead. And besides, you have some pretty good motivation."

Immediately, Jemma knew what he was referring to. It would be a lie to admit that she hadn't thought about it. That it hadn't been agony, sitting next to Fitz' bedside, knowing that, if she could only get her hands on some of that miracle drug, he could be Fitz again, lively and anxious and brilliant as ever. Still, even if they had had access to some of the drug, Coulson would've never signed off on it. And, Jemma had to admit, with good reason; if Garrett had been proof of anything, it was that side-effects were a definite possibility.

"I'm sorry. I can't help you with that. I won't use Fitz as a lab rat!" She protested. She knew it was a weak defense. She'd done it with Skye, after all. But this was different. Fitz was still alive; he still had a fighting chance.

"Oh, come on, Jemma! Be honest with me," his tone was suddenly paternal, like he was talking to a child, "you know what the effects of oxygen deprivation are. Drowning, even for just a few minutes, can be devastating to the brain. How likely do you think it is he'll wake up? And if he does, you know he won't be the Fitz you know and love! He might not be able to speak, or even move. He certainly won't be the genius boy that he's always been. Do you think he'll be happy like that? Unable to work, unable to create those amazing machines that he's loved so much?"

It chilled Jemma, to finally hear it said out loud, what she'd known all this time but had never fully admitted to herself. She shook her head lightly, her nails digging tiny crescent moons into her palm.

"No. I can't. I - I can't." Even if it meant helping Fitz, this was still Hydra, the organisation that had wrecked SHIELD and caused the deaths of so many people. She knew she just couldn't give in to their demands. She needed to hold out, wait for her team to find them. She had a duty not to give in.

"Look, I can put a gun to your head. I can put a gun to Fitz' head. I can have you tortured, if you want. I'll make you help us, one way or the other. But you know, deep down, no matter how much you deny it, that you want this as bad as me. This research will save lives, Doctor Simmons. It might just save your friend's. That is _entirely_ up to you. " He paused, his eyes drilling into her, and smiled.

"Now, shall we go see him?"

As he stepped out of the room, motioning that she should follow, Jemma realised that her cheeks and eyes were moist. She hadn't even noticed she'd started crying.


End file.
